The Way He Looked At Me
by Freda King
Summary: Post ATY. Its all about Character, primarliy Syd's and Vaughn's.
1. Joey's Pizza

Author: Freda King  
  
Disclaimer: I own nothing.  
  
Feedback: Yes PLEASE!  
  
Note: I'll be up dating this frequently, please tell me what you think.  
  
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"You know something? We really need to think about changing our phone number!" Francie was now pacing back and forth along the kitchen, obviously annoyed. "Sydney, they might be casing us! Trying to find out when we're home, so they can come and . . ." her voice drifted off as she eyes fell on Sydney. She stopped and stared a second and then said, "Oh baby!"  
  
The picture she had seen, Sydney framed by the door, standing there in total dejection. Her hair hung limply around her face, sticking to her cheeks; she had a cut on her forehead with a scab that spoke of violence. Her shirt was torn and soiled, her shoulders slumped in defeat. But most piercing of all were her dark eyes, filled with pain, and sorrow; downcast, and crushed, eyes that longed to close and never open.  
  
Rushing towards Sydney, she came and wrapped her arms around her. Rocking slowly back-and-forth she cradled her head in her arms. Sydney buried her face in Francie's neck and hair. Attempting to bury her pain deep within her heart. Slowly Francie stepped back, her hands wresting on Sydney's upper arms. Looking Sydney in the eyes Francie said slowly "I'm gonna make tea, and pull out the chocolate, and we're gonna sit down and cry this out."  
  
Leading Sydney to the couch, and sitting her down, Francie began to bustle around the kitchen, and soon the tea-kettle was humming and the stereo was playing appropriately sad songs in low tones.  
  
Once seated beside Sydney each with a cup in hand Francie touching Sydney ever so lightly she asked, "What's wrong baby?  
  
As tears marked a path down her cheeks Sydney forced herself to think, the pain of losing him, the pain of her mothers wickedness. The pain of killing her. Her mind pounded: You killed her. You killed your mother. She fought the voice, and then said sternly to herself, "Yes, I killed my mother."  
  
Francie missed the first word, but heard the rest. Moving a hand to Sydney's chin, she turned her head to face her. Looking Sydney in the eyes she said, "These demons of guilt, the ghosts of the past that plague you, you cry yourself to sleep every-night tormented by their hollow threats. You were not responsible for your mother's death, you were not responsible for Danny's death, you did not create the monster your father became, and you did not initiate Noah's selfish behavior. You are innocent of the lies these demons haunt you with."  
  
"No. I killed her. I asked her about Vaughn, and she laughed at me." Pain filled Sydney's voice as she recalled the scene. The words tumbling from her mouth, the story out of order and incomprehensible to Francie. "She said 'You can find another man, Sark is always available dearest.' It was then that I killed her; she didn't expect me to attack. She didn't even see the danger coming." Hysterical now, she began to weep and fell into Francie's lap, lost in pain and grief.  
  
Francie stared down at the mass of tangled brown hair; her eyes wide with shock. Desperately attempting to comprehend. Desperately wishing she remembered more from Psychology 101.  
  
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Next chapter: Recollections 


	2. Recollection

The dull throbbing in her head was slowly decreasing, but she didn't want to move yet. Will had come in while she was still in Francie's lap, Francie had ordered him to take her off to her room and lay Sydney down in bed. Good old Will, he always does everything she says. Staring up at the ceiling, she wondered when the rest of her life would begin. If it would begin. But most of all, she was remembering. She remembered Will's scream, the way his voice had filled with pain. The way he said he loved her.  
  
She didn't want to think about that, she needed to think about happier times. She remembered eating ice cream with him, laughing with Francie, trying dresses on. Going shopping, passing exams . . . Her life ran past her eyes. She focused only on the good, pushing away the bad. She knew she'd have to give herself a pep talk soon, but right now, she just wanted to remember. She remembered the way Danny talked, the way he danced, she remembered Will, and the way he laughed, and then unbidden, but following the natural sequence of her thoughts, she remembered Vaughn. She remembered his voice, his tone, his arms around her, his concern, his face, but most of all she remembered the way he looked at her.  
  
The way he looked at her when she cried, when she needed comfort, when she sought a friend, whenever she saw him, his eyes had shown, just for me. She told herself, she had to believe his eyes were glad to see her. Just as surely as she breathed she remembered him looking at her through the glass, seeing her, and know he would die. No! Sydney, she told herself firmly, you must put those thoughts out of your head. It will do you no good to dwell on that which you cannot have. You have a job to do; a country to protect . . . Her pep talk went on. But it did no good, no matter where she turned, or what she thought about, or how firmly she scolded herself, cursing her own tears, she could not erase the picture of him, behind the glass, staring at her, and the way his eyes looked at her.  
  
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Francie began to pace. First Sydney, and now Will! Why didn't I see it when he came in?! Stupid me! And I had him carry her, Him! In his condition! What is happening to my friends? Sydney is a basket case, and Will looks like he's just come from a dentist who doesn't believe in pain medicine!  
  
Bustling around the kitchen again she made another pot of tea, and then realized the other one wasn't remotely finished.  
  
Will had come in, and sat down on a stool, he stood there watching Francie as she paced, and then made tea, she was too preoccupied to see him. So he sat there patiently and waited.  
  
Finally Francie stopped and getting an iron grip on her thoughts and emotions, she turned and looked around. That was when she saw Will. Coming around the counter she hugged him as he stood up. She meant to comfort him, but she was the one in tears. She stood there sobbing against his shoulder, her iron grip hadn't been iron at all, in fact, there had been no grip.  
  
"Will, what's happened to you? What happened to Syd? Where have you two been?" She wasn't accusing, or berating, she was begging, begging to know, to be told everything was 'OK.' She had spoken into his shoulder, but her muffled voice reached Will's ears.  
  
"I got in a fight. Some thugs beat me up." I'm sorry. I don't want to lie! Please Francie, if only you understood. If only . . . "They took my stuff, thankfully I didn't have much on me."  
  
"Oh Will, I'm so sorry, this town is so bad with thieves." Francie slowly detangled herself from Will, and then said to him, "Come on, I'll see if I have any band-aids."  
  
Soon she had him sitting by the table, as she poured generous helping of Hydrogen Peroxide onto cotton balls to clean his wounds. Will was making the appropriate fussing sounds, and Francie was just as appropriately shushing him.  
  
It was into that atmosphere that Sydney walked as she entered the room. She'd had a shower, and cleaned up, she wore her bathrobe, but she still walked stiffly, and her nose was red, and her eyes were blotchy. As she entered the room Francie stiffened and Will stared, they were both silent, frozen mid word and action.  
  
She came and sat down at the table with them, her fingers tracing patters in the wood. Then looking up abruptly, she gave a weak smile and then began, "Do you remember when . . ."  
  
Soon they were all laughing, Francie had returned to her administrations, and Will to his complaining, but they all shared their favorite stories. Will was pleased to see Sydney sharing and laughing. Sydney was pleased to see Will looking normal, acting normal, she needed normal. But Francie, unaware that something was up with Will, was still anxious about Sydney. Normal people don't weep hysterically, and cry about imagined guilt, and then laugh, however weakly, within the same day.  
  
The time of remembrance was cathartic to Sydney, and to Will. To relive a simpler time, a better time. But Sydney knew she needed to put Francie at ease, she knew she'd said too much. So after a long pause, she began, her eyes were focused on her fingers as she traced patterns again, and she said, "Francie, I don't expect you to understand all this," she gestured with her hands to indicate her life and the happenings of the last couple hours. "But, I need you to accept it. I love you Francie, and I don't want anything to happen to you, you're my friend, my sister, I need you to forget this, I need you to, please."  
  
"Sydney, I trust you, but I have to –"  
  
"No, Please . . ." Her voice was imploring as she begged; her eyes were filled with pain as she met Francie's gaze.  
  
After a pause Francie said, "OK, Sydney, I trust you."  
  
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It was late, and as Sydney lay in bed she rethought her life again. Everything she'd heard, everything that mattered. She felt his arms around her again, and dwelt on it, the tears running endlessly down her face. She saw the scalpel pierce her mother's flesh again, the scene playing mercilessly over and over. And the tears that had never ceased continued. She saw Will, in his pain and horror. And wept over the effects this would have on him. She saw Vaughn's face, staring at her, his eyes filled with . . . dare she insert love? The movie played on, the flight back to L.A. the long hours she'd spent in her car. Then the time she spent at the CIA debriefing. The questions they'd asked her, the sympathetic looks she'd received. She saw the time she spent at the train station, hiding, knowing no one must see her in that state. She'd stared at the chairs where she and Vaughn had sat. She'd stared, and wept. She relieved her quandary as to what to tell SD-6. She relived her visit to the hospital, hoping to see Emily, the disappointment that she couldn't talk with her. She saw herself driving recklessly home, forgetting everything but her need to see a normal life.  
  
And then slowly she heard these words, words Francie had said: "You know something? We really need to think about changing our phone number! Sydney, they might be casing us!" Why had Francie said that? Suddenly the words were pounding in her ears, over and over again, combined with a picture of Francie hanging up the phone.  
  
Suddenly her breath caught, could it be? She clutched wildly at the sheets, not daring to hope, not daring to dispel the hope. Sitting bolt upright she searched her room for her Cell phone with the secure line. She clawed through her suitcases until she found it. Then she stared at it for a long time. Then a numbing blow hit. It wasn't Vaughn; it was just the CIA checking up on her. Calling her to set up a meeting. But rushing after those thoughts chorused this statement by Decklin: "I won't call you till Thursday, get some rest." Decklin didn't call, she'd just talked to the CIA, why? Why would they call me? It must be . . . it has to be . . . maybe, just maybe . . .  
  
She entered a number she knew by heart and pressed dial.  
  
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Next Chapter: Reunion 


	3. Reunion

She listened to the phone ring once, and then was greeted by a stressed voice.  
  
"Hello."  
  
"Hi" she squeaked, and then was overwhelmed by tears. Sitting there, on her bed, cradling her cell phone, she wept tears of joy and relief. In her ear she heard the comforting words of her Guardian Angel, speaking words of peace.  
  
"I'm coming, I'll be there soon." She managed to say, and they both hung up.  
  
She raced around her bedroom, grabbed her keys, and tore out her door. As she entered the hallway, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, and stopped dead in her tracks. The vision she saw was a tired, blotchy faced woman, in her pajamas who'd obviously wept half the night. She turned a quick 180 degrees and back in her bedroom she dressed herself very carefully. First one garment, but it made her look fat. Then the next, but it was too low cut. Finally she found her favorite outfit, and with fumbling fingers put it on. She grabbed matching shoes and raced to the bathroom. There she combed her hair quickly, just enough to get make it look presentable, and quickly applied makeup to hide her tear blotched eyes. She looked at herself again, this time approved, and raced out the door. As she crossed the living room she heard Francie as her "Hey there! Where are you going?"  
  
But ignoring her she tore out the front door, and jumped in her car. She sped down the highway, and finally parked her car in front of the warehouse. Once stopped, she gasped for breathe and berated herself for acting like a teenager on her first date.  
  
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Stepping out of her car she forced herself to walk calmly to their meeting place. Her heart raced as she walked, and her eyes were filling again. He's here, he's really here! Quickly crowding her joy were her questions, and fears, what if he blames me for the problem, what if its just business? I don't know if my heart could take that. What if he does like me? What if?  
  
She lifted her eyes from the pavement, and then suddenly she saw him, standing there, staring at her. Before she knew herself, or her place, she was in his arms, they'd run towards each other, and now wrapped in the comfort each of them sought, neither of them dared to speak.  
  
Her makeup had done no good, he'd know she'd been crying, and now, she washed her face again with tears, she buried her face in his shoulder, and dampened his suit. With his arms securely holding her, and his head resting on hers, there was no place she would have preferred. He began to whisper in her ear, those charming 'sweet nothings' that meant so much when she heard them. His terms of endearment when accompanied by his voice, and the emotion behind it held new meanings to her, and nothing on earth could of separated them.  
  
Slowly now he lifted his head, and taking her face in his hands, he slowly lowered his lips to hers. He needed her, he need to feel her love, to know her thoughts, to feel her presence. And oh, so gently he kissed her, savoring the touch, hoping, daring, wishing . . .  
  
"Oh my darling, never leave me, never." His sweet voice filled her senses as he held her, gently caressing her. She needed him too, she could feel her weakness, her desperation to be accepted, and loved by him.  
  
She pulled her head back so she could see his face. She had many questions to ask, many emotions to express, but at that moment she had her final answer, written plainly in the way he looked at her.  
  
The End 


End file.
